Stuck at the Window
by MythScavenger
Summary: He was only going to check on her. Getting wounded and forced to stay at the Darling home? Uh oh. This can't end well. *Based on 2003 movie; Peter Pan x Wendy*
1. The Fall

**Yes, the pairing is Pendy/Peter x Wendy. It is not PxJ for once. :) Please R&R!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan.**

_**Stuck at the Window**_

**Chapter One: The Fall**

A dark mist covered the London streets, streetlamps making dull circles of light as it surrounded them. Stars danced around the moon, one particularly shining bright. Clopping hooves echoed down the cobblestone streets, people were cheerfully saying good-bye to one another, and many more noises echoed in the stifling weather.

If you happened to be paying attention to Time, you would hear the grandfather clock suddenly not tick. The clock on the kitchen wall would stop mid-tock. The moon might seem to freeze for a moment or two.

A figure was flying over the houses, their ashy blonde hair suddenly becoming damp with the humidity. His green eyes were peeled for a certain house, for a certain window.

A skeletal leaf drifted downwards, softly landing on the sidewalk before stepped on by a polished boot. The boot's owner did not look upwards to see the leaf-clothed boy or his sparkling friend.

The fairy was wearing a dress composed of dark green leaves. Her blonde hair shone like bells; her voice was composed of their sound. She kept trying to convince the boy to turn back, to return back to his home.

"No, Tink," he whispered stubbornly as he swerved to avoid a familiar chimney. He was getting close.

The fairy pouted but stopped talking. Leaving behind a trail of pixiedust, she followed Peter Pan until he stopped at a window.

"This is it, Tink. I'm pretty sure it is," he told her.

The fairy rolled her eyes and frowned but then nodded to confirm.

"Here goes nothing," he whispered before drawing closer to the stained glass window.

A young girl, no older than thirteen, was walking up the street toward home. Her skirts swished around her feet as she obediently kept to the sidewalk, much wanting to just twirl and jump in the streets. But no, she must be a proper young lady.

How could she be that at thirteen? She was supposed to be a Wendy-lady. Not a proper young lady. She was a Wendy-lady. Not ever will she be a proper young lady.

She would always and forever remain a Wendy-lady.

Her lush brown curls framed a soft face with innocent blue eyes as pinkish lips twisted into an upset frown. She did not want to grow up, no matter what she told Peter Pan. Bowing her head in hopes that the curls would hide her face, she crossed the street, knowing she was almost home.

Almost home to books and studying. Her frown deepened at the thought of the homework waiting for her. She yearned to be an author with all her heart but..._No. You will do anything to become an author._

She suddenly stopped, furrowing her brow in puzzlement. A leaf had floated and landed in front of her. It was not skeletal like the ones Peter Pan wore, but a light, healthy, greenish-yellow one. "Look at yourself," she scoffed, "Stopping for a leaf." Shaking her head, she started walking once more.

The clocks have resumed ticking and tocking but something is wrong. There is some type of..._slowness_, if you will, that surrounds your home. If you watch the clock, seeing the long hand and the little hand then the tiny, extremely little second-counting hand, they seem to be moving as slow as snails. Or slower, if you are of the impatient kind.

The weather remains the same, the noises are ceasing, the moon remains uncovered. Peter Pan is trying to open the window to no avail while Wendy Darling is walking home.

Hearing faint grunting, Wendy glanced upwards. Her mouth formed a small 'O' in surprise. There was a boy floating outside her window with a little ball of light on his shoulder. He was wearing an outfit of leaves and no shoes.

"Peter!" she yelled loudly before she could restrain herself and started to run the last few yards to her house.

Startled, the flying boy looked down at her before a smile spreading over his features.

A large dog with a rich brown and white coat began to bark, the bark booming throughout the house. It rushed to the window and barked louder, putting its paws on the glass.

Wendy froze as Peter's hands shot away from the window, as if it shocked him. For some reason, he started to fall. He didn't know why and neither did Tinkerbell or Wendy. Scared, he scrabbled at the window's edge as he proceded to fall.

Wendy watched in faint horror as his hands slipped past the edge. He was falling now, his face a mixture of fear and surprise. Tinkerbell flitted by helplessly as she bit her lip, unsure of what to do. A thump and a sickening _crack! _split the air. The fairy shot downwards toward her best friend, still unsure of what to do but knew she had to stay beside him.

"Peter, please be okay," Wendy said under her breath before running to the door.

Without Peter or Wendy's knowledge, the window had opened...A bit of half an inch. That was just enough for the boy's shadow to seep in. Nana smelled something...odd. She knew that a boy who was not any of her owners was trying to open the window. It was the one from last time. She began to snarl as she grabbed the shadow between her sharp teeth. It tasted like cold air and darkness but she backed away.

The shadow was easier to pull away this time. It was so easy that Peter Pan barely noticed it.

**Don't worry - later chapters **_**will **_**be longer. Well, was this good? Awesome? Terrible? Horrid? How will I know if you don't review? Or story-alert? Or favorite? :) -MythScavenger**


	2. Wendy Always Knows

**Sorry about the long wait. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and thanks a million for all of the support. :3**

**Chapter Two: Wendy Always Knows**

Wendy rushed down the hall, her skirts flying out behind her. "Michael! John!" Doing a sharp turn, she shot up the stairs toward the nursery and her own room.

As she entered the nursery, none of her brothers or her adoptive brothers were there. She distantly remembered her family went on a walk and she decided to return home early. It was a gut feeling, and now she understood why she needed to return.

Nana was in the room and she was barking up a storm and wrestling with something dark and translucent. Wendy recognized Peter's shadow as it picked up a wooden letter block and threw it at the dog's head.

"Stop it! Both of you!" Wendy exclaimed and tried to get between them but to no success as the shadow pushed her and the dog away. "You were not this ridiculous last time!" She frowned in anger, "Peter is hurt and you are battling my dog!"

The shadow paused, as if it was actually concerned about its counterpart before shrugging. Nana growled and bared her fangs. The growl started out as a slow rumble before rising up the dog's throat. Wendy stepped forward and grabbed the dog's collar, determined to pull her away from the shadow that began to crawl backwards, sensing that it was cornered.

"Nana, it is alright. The shadow doesn't mean harm, okay?" The dog looked up at the girl in confusion before glancing back at her enemy, "Peter is hurt and I need to help him. You are not helping by fighting his shadow." The dog seemed to sigh before hanging her head and walking out of the room, causing Wendy to let go of the leather collar.

"Now," Wendy stared at the shadow, "I want you to go in there." She pointed to the dresser out in the hallway. The shadow saluted before stiffly going to the dresser. It seeped into the keyhole and was soon out of sight.

Wendy rolled her eyes before quickly walking to the window, fearing the worst. She peered down and a low gasp escaped her lips. Peter was lying on his side on the patio that was many feet below the window. One arm was behind his head, separating it from the stone. The other was bent at an awkward angle, clearly broken.

"Peter!" she called out his name in horror. She heard him faintly groan and saw him uncomfortably shift against the stone. Scanning the area for Tinkerbell, she sighed in relief as she saw the fairy near one of the boy's ears.

She drew back from the window and contemplated on what to do now. Tend to Peter, of course. Do that first. Biting her lip, she ran from the nursery and raced toward the entrance to the patio.

Peter felt the harsh cold stone against his body, the leaves doing nothing to protect him from the stone and the agony. He could barely think; the pain clouding up his mind. His breathing came in ragged gasps as the pain raced in his veins.

He felt tears forming then them making watery pathways down his round cheeks. He couldn't wipe them away in shame to come to crying. His right arm hurt; whenever he attempted to move it he had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from screaming.

Only one clear thought rang in his head: _How come I can't fly?_ Squeezing his eyes shut, he felt footsteps against the stone. Someone was coming to help him.

"W-Wendy?" he was able to say her name slowly as his eyes opened before squinting to see buckled shoes heading his way.

"Oh, Peter!" she said and got on her knees next to him, "You broke your arm." He looked upwards to meet her eyes.

He was suddenly remembered of the thimble she gave him on the codfish's ship. How he became pink and felt like nothing could defeat him. Was she going to do the same thing again?

"Eeee-ooowwwww," he gasped as she gently grabbed his broken arm. The pain worsened extremely to him yelping, refusing to scream.

"Sorry," she whispered, "but I need to see how bad it is." She looked at Peter's face to see him make his body go rigid, as if building up for more damage.

"H-how come I can't fly, Wendy?" he asked, confused against the pain. Wendy should know, Wendy always knew.

"I don't know, Peter. But we can't worry about that now. We need to get you to a doctor."

He mutely nodded and closed his eyes, feeling slightly relaxed with Wendy there. He was now able to think, slowly trying to piece everything together.

"Wendy?" someone gasped, making Peter open his eyes. Both of the children looked up to see all of the Darlings there; the former Lost Boys more happy than shocked.

"Er, hi, mother," Wendy replied and gestured to Peter. "Can you call the doctor?"

**This chapter **_**was **_**fun to write, I'll admit. Please review! Or at least favorite/alert. :D -MythScavenger**


	3. Scared

**I'm a horrible updater, I know. Before you hurt me, at least read the chapter. Please?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the character Peter Pan or any of the characters created by J.M. Barrie. I only own the plot and any characters of my own that I have/may introduce.**

**Chapter Three: Scared**

Peter Pan was scared. There. He admitted it. People kept prodding and poking his injured arm; people in white coats with a weird smell around them. The scent was odd; it smelled of sick and clean. Not the Darling type of clean – it was a type of clean that hung around "hospitals," as the Darlings referred to it. It made him wrinkle his nose along with flinching every five seconds because of some cursed "doctor" (as the Darlings called him; more formally Dr. Lawrence).

He was in a clean white bed with clean white walls and clean tiled floors. There was just so much…_clean! _And white. Whether it was white with a light blue tint or white in general or even an eggshell white, there was just too much _white_.

And his arm was ugly. It wasn't just a Neverland tan anymore; it was an ugly swollen color with a few red and blue bruises. He wanted the regular arm back; not this damaged one. The regular one did not make him flinch and wince and cry. Let's not forget that this was his right arm; his sword arm. How was he going to defend himself?

On top of all of that, he still had yet to completely figure out why he fell and couldn't fly and then…where was his shadow? Luckily no-one had questioned it; no raised eyebrows had yet to be seen or questions whispered into another's ear heard.

"Please hold still, Peter," Doctor Lawrence said, annoyance hinting at the very edge of his tone. Oh, if this leaf-clad boy would just stop fidgeting! Why was he wearing leaves anyway? And was there a dagger in that sheath?

"I would if it-" Peter cut off. He gritted his teeth as the Doctor Lawrence probed at it once more.

"Alright. Mr. Darling and Mrs. Darling, could I speak outside with you for a moment?" the doctor asked, drawing back from Peter's arm. His square glasses, much like Mr. Darling's except for a thicker black outline, were perched on the very end of his crooked nose. He pushed them up a bit before leaving the room, followed by the two parents.

"Are you okay, Peter?" Wendy hurriedly asked from her uncomfortable chair in the corner.

Only one child was allowed in the room besides Peter Pan, and Wendy was the only one Darling child there either way. Michael and John were watching the Lost Boys with Aunt Millicent back at the Darling house, much to the complaints of the boys.

"If they would stop POKING ME," he said the last bit louder than needed, "I might just BE OKAY."

Wendy shook her head, slightly giggling at his antics. Peter Pan still had yet to understand that Doctor Lawrence was there to help and not to cause any harm. _Intentional _harm, anyway. "Peter, he is not 'poking' you. He is trying to figure out what is wrong."

"It's broken, isn't it, Wendy?" he said, suddenly solemn. "Will they have to cut it off?" his voice reaching an octave higher as the thought occurred to him. Oh, how he would be teased and handicapped for forever! It would be horrid: having half of an arm. Or, dare he think it, a stump of an arm! It wouldn't even be an arm even more – it would be a stump. He would have one arm and a stump. The very thought made the a-bit-duller-now-but-still-there pain increase.

Wendy wanted to laugh, she really did. It was all just too humorous: Peter Pan being in a hospital with a broken arm, believing that the arm would have to be cut off with his lovely green eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "Peter, they won't have to cut it off!"

The boy's wide eyes narrowed. "Swear on your life, Wendy! Swear it!"

Wendy shook her head, a giggle or two escaping against her will. Michael and John had broken a limb before; it was no big deal. Slightly had already broken a bone while playing in the park. What a nightmare _that _was…

"You won't swear! Will it hurt? Will they stop the bleeding? I'll have a stump, Wendy! A _stump_!" Peter panicked, his face going pale. Well, paler.

"Oh, no. Peter, I swear. I swear on my life that they won't cut off your arm. Honest!" Wendy rushed to assure the blonde who was now trying to escape the hospital bed. He gasped as his broken arm banged against the side of the bed.

He then paused, staring at the Wendy-lady who was now standing at the edge of the bed. Her hands were frozen in mid-air toward his as he spoke, "They won't?"

"No, not at all," she said, taking advantage of his pause. "They'll just put it in a splint or-"

"What's going on in here?" the doctor swiftly opened the door and his dark grey eyes took in the scene before him. "You, girl, away from him. He has a fracture-"

"You will not speak-" Mrs. Darling began but her husband shook his head 'no.' She stopped, trying to content herself with glaring at the doctor.

"-that needs to be treated. Go to the waiting room, now. Move along."

Peter began to protest. Wendy was the only person he trusted in that room. Even if she _did_ swear on her life that they were not going to cut off his arm, he could never be too sure.

"You will be fine, Peter," she told him as she left the room, casting one comforting glance back at him.

_I highly doubt that._

* * *

Peter shifted his right arm that was now in an uncomfortable splint, as the doctor and Darlings referred to it. What was more uncomfortable than the splint was the position his arm was in. The splint was bulky ("But not as bulky as a cast," Wendy had said) and laying down on what Mrs. Darling had referred to as a couch didn't really help. Couches were thin.

The doctor had done something they called an x-ray and then spoke of fractures and weeks and treatment. Peter had barely followed the conversation, or what was exactly going on. He was just tired and wanted to go home. Falling and breaking (or at least fracturing) a bone took a lot out of you.

Especially panicking over someone cutting off your arm. He resented that moment when he panicked. Absolutely _detested_ it. As he picked at a loose thread on the pillow with his good hand that was connected to his good arm, he remembered Wendy laughing. She had laughed at his alarm – or, at least, giggled that cute little giggle that made him want to kick himself for finding it cute.

He wondered if that was how Hook had felt. Had he panicked when Peter had sliced off his hand and fed it to the crocodile without a single care? How had he stopped the bleeding? How had he even survived the pain? For that moment, just a little second mind you, Peter felt a bit of admiration for his fallen opponent.

Peter shifted some more, his brushed ashy blonde head sinking into the plush pillow. It was weird to be this clean. After he had arrived back from the "hospital," and after the reunion between him and his former Lost Boys, he took a bath. A bath in warm water that washed all of the grime away with a slippery bar of soap. Mr. Darling had helped him with the splint and such while Mrs. Darling had retrieved him some fresh clothes of John's.

She had said that the next morning, she would go shopping for some new clothes of his own. It felt weird without the skeletal leaves tickling his side; the rub of clean cotton taking their place.

As he drifted to sleep, one thought reached his mind:

_They aren't so bad for grown-ups._

**Apparently, Peter is having a change of mind about grown-ups. Or, at least, two exceptions. Anyway, I had fun writing this chapter (especially Peter panicking) and I hope you enjoyed it. Please do review or story-alert/favorite. Each one means an awful lot! -MythScavenger**


	4. Decisions

**Another chapter? Oh, yes. **** This might be a filler, but I hope you like it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan; I only own the plot of this fanfiction.**

**Chapter Four: Decisions **

She poked his shoulder, determined to wake him up. The only result was him grunting and adjusting his wounded arm. Sighing, she poked him again but this time a bit more roughly.

Wendy looked at the little golden person on her shoulder for an idea. The pixie thought for a moment and then shrugged.

Wendy had woken up to a bell noise outside her window. It was a very faint noise; it woke her up nonetheless. She perked up as she recognized the tiny figure that was banging on the glass. Just like Peter.

Tinkerbell had meant to follow them, but then she got chased by a bird. When the stupid bird had finally lost interest, she looked around and no-one was there. So, she settled on the option of waiting. They took so long, however, that she fell asleep against her will.

So, a few questions here and there and you could find the two attempting to wake up the sleeping Pan.

"Tinkerbell, what do you do to usually wake him up?" Wendy asked in a hushed whisper.

The pixie's not-yet-spoken-answer was not required for Peter mumbled something and opened his eyes. Wendy froze, but Tinkerbell flew to the shoulder Wendy had been poking and began to give the forever young boy a lecture.

"Hi…Tink…," he yawned and closed his eyes. Tink continued to give him a lecture - even after he began to softly snore and drool.

Wendy shook her head, trying to stifle her laughter. She stepped away and slipped back up the stairs, leaving the two to their own devices.

"Wendy?" She heard her mother's voice.

"Oh, hello, Mother," she turned, one foot raised, to see Mrs. Darling clutching her robe tight around herself in the dim light.

"I take it that Tinkerbell woke you up?"

Wendy nodded. "Is she still lecturing Peter?"

"Relentlessly." They both smiled.

"Well, go along to bed, dear," her mother told her.

Wendy nodded and continued to climb back up the stairs. Peter Pan was going to live in her house. _Peter Pan_ was going to_ live in her house_. The happy thought made her feet bounce as she came to the landing.

Entering her room and collapsing on her bed, she curled up under the warm covers. When Peter healed completely, she hoped to leave a mark on him by then.

Preferably one that would make him stay.

* * *

There was a little complication the next morning: school. Sadly, it was not summer when Peter Pan had damaged his arm. However, he did not have to go to school. That almost made the seven hours of no Darling playmates bearable. (Tinkerbell would come by again later.)

Almost. Almost bearable.

So, he had to trudge around the house hour after hour. He took a nap at one point; a small nap at that. And then, Mrs. Darling took him shopping for clothes. He was very confused and just found so many options and restrictions frustrating.

It did not help with the fact that he had an injured arm.

What? He could not wear his tunic made of leaves? Why not? Oh. It was inappropriate? Why? Surely no-one would care. He was Peter Pan! These shoes are too tight; can't he at least go bare foot? Please, Mrs. Darling? Splinters? Rocks? He always got splinters and stepped on rocks. They were nothing new.

Mrs. Darling finally made him stop asking questions and refusing shoes by threatening him with a hair cut. A hair cut sounded devastating.

When they returned back to the Darling house, Peter Pan was clothed in a white shirt ("It's itchy!") and a cloth vest ("_Mrs. Darling!_") along with black pants ("…They're long."). To top it off, he had new shoes. The mother also bought him some extra pairs of clothes.

He hated the fact that he had to change clothes. He felt too restricted in these _outfits_ that made him look like a snobby and selfish boy. He was not snobby nor selfish! He was Peter Pan, honorable and brave and friendly and handsome and many other brilliant qualities.

Selfish? Snobby?

_Never_.

Perish the thought!

When the three original Darling children and former Lost Boys returned, they all stopped in their footsteps when they saw Peter Pan in…._regular _clothing. Some jaws even dropped.

"Hey – I don't like it either," he said and crossed his arms. Well, tried to which resulted with a wince. "Your _mother _threatened me with a hair cut."

John nodded. "She'll do that." The no-longer-Lost-Boys nodded, agreeing and muttering among themselves. Some even thankfully patted their hair.

Wendy rolled her eyes, a move she could get away with if her parents were not in the room. "You are such _boys_!"

She was then countered with "Of course we are!" and things along those lines before they were all interrupted with Mrs. Darling calling for them to come into the kitchen. She had some snacks.

* * *

Peter was decided to sleep on the couch until his arm completely healed. Peter was also spared the "torture" of school. Peter was also to not do much until his arm healed. That meant no rough playing (basically no playing in general in his point of view), no more shopping ("Thank you!" he had said, wiping pretend sweat off his brow.), and no leaving the house unless accompanied by Wendy or an adult.

All of these decisions were made during a rambunctious dinner.

And Peter Pan did not like them one bit (except for the school and shopping part; those he was plenty thankful for).

**See? Filler. Well, I hope that you were amused (or at least smiled) and don't worry – things will pick up in the next chapter! **** Thank you for reading and possibly reviewing and such! -MythScavenger**


	5. Nightmares and Makebelieves

**Hullo! Thank you guys so much for the reviews and everything. They seriously mean a lot. Well, the story picks up a bit in here (thanks for being patient with the not-much-really-happening chapters), so I hope you like it! :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan (2003 version is copyrighted Universal; character copyrighted J.M. Barrie).**

**Chapter Five: Nightmares and Make-believes **

That night, Peter Pan yelled.

He was squirming and twisting as if he was fighting invisible bonds and his expression was one of anguish. His blankets were twisted around his legs and his forehead was covered with sweat. Luckily, his injured arm had not been moved all that much.

All of the Darlings were centered around him; the lamps were fully lit as they all observed the boy suffering in his sleep. Mrs. Darling and Wendy both wanted to comfort him; they really did. But, they were afraid of getting hurt themselves.

Who knew how Peter would react from human touch when he is having an apparently horrid nightmare?

The Lost Boys were so tempted to go confront the enemy Peter was facing, but they did not. They could not. Mrs. Darling told them to go to sleep, but they stubbornly shook their heads no.

It was a couple of minutes longer before Peter Pan finally quieted, his whimpers fading and fading. They all agreed to not speak of this incident with the boy in earshot; even Mr. Darling knew that Peter Pan would not have wanted them to see him like this.

Eventually, Wendy Darling was the only one left in the living room. She was still sitting in the chair closest to the couch. There was something like this back in Neverland; it had only happened once, yes, but it had still taken place.

Peter had been dreaming; so furiously dreaming. He had even yelled a battle cry. But, then his face wrenched and Wendy knew that something had happened in the dream-world. She had raced to his side and took his head into her lap; smoothing the messy blonde hair and murmuring incoherent words of comfort.

He had soon calmed down and his breathing returned to normal. She then quickly left, knowing that if he woke up, she would surely be banished.

Surprisingly, the Lost Boys had not heard.

She did the same now. His hair was not so dirty anymore; and it was not even an ashy blonde as she had thought. It was a rich blonde; not all that pale. With the grime washed away, his skin was a slight tan; only a bit lighter without the patches of dirt. He even had a small splash of freckles that were once covered by smudges on his nose.

"Mhm," he murmured in his sleep and stirred, his green eyes slightly opening. Wendy leaped up and fled toward the stairs, making his head fall to the pillow. "Wendy?"

She was tempted to pause, but chose not to. Oh, he was going to get mad at her. Surely. Absolutely.

Wait. Those weren't her footsteps. She quickened her pace and ran into her room, softly shutting the door behind her. The entire room was dark except for moonlight from the only window. The only thing she could hear were Peter's hesitant footsteps and her heavy breathing.

"…Wendy?" he called, his footsteps growing closer. "Where are you, Wendy?" The girl bit her lower lip when she saw his feet in front of her door. "Wendy?"

She sighed and knew that she would have to get it over with sooner or later. She walked toward the door and opened it to see Peter looking at her with a curious expression. "Hello, Peter."

He entered the room, causing her to turn around. "Why were you in the…," he trailed off, grasping for the right pair of words.

"In where?" she asked, waiting with bated breath. _Please don't speak of it…._

"The…you know!" he gestured with his hands. "The living room."

She cocked her head. "I wasn't in the living room." It hurt her to lie, but she did promise to her parents not to speak of Peter's nightmare…right? When he was in earshot, that is. And she was pretty sure that Peter Pan being a couple of feet away was considered Peter Pan being in earshot.

She saw the boy furrow his brow in the light. "But…I could have sworn…," he shook his head. "You were in the living room!"

Wendy wanted to ask him about the nightmare; she really did. Were they normal? She told herself to ask the Lost Boys later. "No, I wasn't," she tried to make her tone sound as definite as possible.

"Someone was stroking…," he trailed off, "No. No, Wendy! I thought we agreed that it was all make-believe!" Freezing for the slightest second, he looked at her with a wild look in his green eyes. He then ran past her, out of her room, and back down the stairs.

Wendy Darling might as well have accidentally killed somebody; that was how guilty she felt.

* * *

Peter curled up in the blankets, even if they were damp from that stupid nightmare (the nightmare was actually pretty foolish; now that he had woken up and all). Oh, why did Wendy have to comfort him? Curse himself for actually _liking _the feeling of her fingers in his hair!

It should have been make-believe. It should _be_ make-believe. He should not be harboring these feelings for her, nor should she for him. It was not right. Why, he was Peter Pan! She was Wendy Moira Angela Darling! He was the boy who would not grow up and she was the girl who was worth more than twenty boys.

….On a different subject, did the _entire_ family see him struggling? Lost Boys and the like? He hoped not.

Closing his eyes, he also hoped that he would not revisit that nightmare. Or dream-world in general. He needed Tinkerbell here, and he needed her now. She would surely have the answers.

She was Tinkerbell, after all. She may have had the traits of stubbornness and the habit of being rude at points, but she was his friend. Though, it would probably be a good idea to not mention Wendy's fingers winding themselves around his curly blonde strands.

Tinkerbell wouldn't like that.

**So. Thank you so much for taking the time to read and please do review! And I am really sorry about how short these chapters are; I am sort of aiming for content and not length here. -MythScavenger**


	6. The Aftermath of the Not to be Mentioned

**Sorry about the wait! And thank you guys so much for the reviews, alerts, and favorites! Here is chapter six. Hope you enjoy it.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan. The character was created by J.M. Barrie and has gone through many transformations/adaptations. In no way do I own him.**

**Chapter Six: The Aftermath of the Not-to-be-Mentioned**

Peter Pan was determined to not mention that night. It. That Night. That was how it sounded in his head: each word beginning with what the Darlings referred to as a capital letter. Apparently, there were big letters and tiny letters. He began to think of himself as a big letter, leading little letters to Neverland to have grand adventures.

The next morning, when they were to begin feasting on breakfast, Peter decided to sit the farthest he could from Wendy. He had sent the you-_better_-sit-next-to-me look and subtle nods to two of the adopted Darlings until they got the message, taking the two seats on each side of their former-leader-who-still-had-some-control-over-them.

Now, we have all heard of a domino effect, correct? A chain reaction.

When the other used-to-be Lost Boys saw that two of them were sitting on each side of Peter Pan, they all felt that they must sit next to him, as well. When Wendy finally entered the room after spending a teeny bit more time on her hair, she was met with all former Lost Boys sitting on each side of the Lost Boy leader; the King of Neverland.

It should have been a rambunctious scene. There should have been food tossed. But, no. There was an eerie silence that was only ruined by Mrs. Darling setting plates of food on the long table. Mr. Darling had left early for work; only sparing the time to kiss his wife on the cheek.

The Lost Boys were silent. Why? There could have been numerous reasons. It could have been the night before; they told themselves not to worry since Peter Pan seemed perfectly fine. A bit cold-shouldered toward Wendy-mother, but still okay. They chose to remain silent, casting worried glances to each other.

While the blonde-haired boy was keeping a stoic look upon his face on the outside, on the inside he was fighting with himself. To meet Wendy's gaze with a challenging stare or to finger with the table cloth and keep his head low? He finally settled on appearing too caught up in his food to notice the girl taking her place at the very end of the table.

While the children and the mother ate, you could feel the tension in the air. Wendy kept trying to meet Peter's eye, but the boy was persistent to not even glance her way. If she was in the corner of his eye, he would turn his head to where she was not in that little corner anymore. He didn't care if he had to go along without a shadow; he was not going to give Wendy-lady – _no_, he corrected himself, _Wendy Moira Angela Darling_ the satisfaction of him taking notice of her. Even if her brown curls danced in a tempting way as she left for dreaded school.

* * *

"Tink," he said urgently, "you have to help me."

The little pixie was looking up at him from his hand with a half-concerned and a half-skeptical look. She had arrived shortly after supper. The whole day he had kept to himself in his room except for meals. He was proud of himself for getting Wendy out of his sight.

"It's awful!" he continued, focusing on the little person in front of him. "I have to wear these stupid clothes and then Wendy-" he cut himself off. He was not going to think of her. He was not going to think of That Night.

Tink felt small glee. He was hesitant about mentioning the Wendy-bird! Okay, she might be actually tolerating the human a bit more, but she was still a Wendy-bird. A taboo.

"And Wendy…Well," he cleared his throat, "it's nothing. But, I can't fly!"

Tinkerbell bit her lower lip and looked down.

"Do…do you know why?" He wondered if he wanted to know the answer or not.

Tinkerbell hesitantly nodded. She gestured with her hands. Peter was flying. She then gestured a heart. Peter couldn't fly anymore. The heart was broken. Peter was stuck to the ground.

Peter's heart – the real heart – seemed to fall. That was it. That was why. His wide eyes looked down as he took in a big breath. He needed clean air; it was confined in there, in the resident bedroom.

The pixie floated up to him and cupped her tiny hands around his chin, using all of her strength to force him to look at her. He shook his head and stood up. He tried to fly and barely got a foot off of the ground. Only catching himself on the edge of his bed kept him from completely falling on his butt.

Tinkerbell sighed and, casting him a sorrowful glance, flew out of the open window. There were some times when she had to leave him alone; some times when Peter Pan had to make decisions by and for himself.

Peter was still staring at the floor, his mind somewhere in a maze where he kept chasing himself – his true self that was lost somewhere in Neverland, when Mrs. Darling softly entered the room.

"Peter," the boy looked up at her with a dazed look in his eyes, "you need to rest. Your arm won't heal without rest."

The lady had mentioned something about rest. He looked back down again.

"Peter," she gently took his uninjured arm, "go to sleep." The boy silently crawled under the covers.

His mind was still chasing his former self. The former self who still had a league of Lost Boys and who was a bigger letter than his current self was and had never considered Wendy as…as something more. He kept dashing ahead and the current Peter was envious of his ability to fly. Envious of his perfect right arm.

Mrs. Darling tucked him in. She made sure that the covers were nice and tight – but, not too tight to where it would take him minute after minute to get out of his bed – and checked that his splinted arm was in a comfortable position that would not injure it even more. The mother didn't dare pet his unruly hair down; she did, however, sit on the edge of his bed and begin to softly sing a lullaby one of the foreign women in town had mentioned.

"Hush, little baby…don't say a word…"

Before Peter finally let himself leave the maze, before finally letting himself get ahead even more, he thought that he had caught a couple of words that sounded very familiar to him.

**Let's just say that Mrs. Darling has heard the lullaby from an American lady visiting London, okay? xD Anyway, thank you so much for reading! -MythScavenger**


	7. It's for the Best

**Thanks so much for the kind reviews! Anyway. Here is the newest chapter. Hope you like it. C:**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan.**

**Chapter Seven: It's for the Best**

Peter Pan was woken up by a sound.

What type of sound it was, even he did not know. It could have been the whisper of a draft that drifted through cracks no-one bothered to close because they thought that the cracks were too small to even bother with, or a soft alarm that belonged to his internal being that cried, _Wake up, Peter! Wake up. Wake up._

All he knew was that he was no longer asleep, and that he had been woken up for a reason. It was such an unidentifiable reason. Sighing, he turned onto his back in the darkness. The covers were strangely a bit tight, but that was not all he noticed.

It was too silent.

He did not like the silent. The quiet. The feeling that something was waiting to pounce. Usually, the "something" was his own thoughts; his forbidden thoughts that dared to creep out to be pondered upon from where he had shoved them to the side earlier that day.

There could never be quiet. There could never be silence. He always had to have _something_ making a noise. It could have been his own mouth from which words flowed, or the rough-housing of his companions that always thankfully distracted him from his betraying thoughts.

The thoughts that made him ponder and be sad and frustrated. The thoughts that made him wonder if he was alright. The thoughts that told him there was something that was bothering him; a thorn stuck in his side that he could not exactly locate nor name.

On this night, he knew what one of those particular thorns was. He could not fly. Why? It was clear enough in the darkness. It might have been the tiniest bit blurred and contorted during the day, but it was uncomfortably and sharply blunt in the darkness.

He liked Wendy.

He could not bring himself to say the other word. The extreme-liking word. The other 'L' word. That was a forbidden word; a word that he dared to not taint his tongue with regularly. If he spoke it aloud, he felt as if he had betrayed everything and everyone he stood for.

He had to not like her. He had to stop liking her. He had to. He had to stop. He had to grab her by the shoulders and try to convince her that _she_ had to stop. She had to stop. She had to stop being so…_Wendy_.

Yes.

She could not be Wendy anymore. She was either Wendy Moira Angela Darling, a stranger, or no-one at all.

No more Wendy-lady. No more just plain Wendy. She was now only that mouthful of a name. She was just an ordinary girl who was soon to be a speck in his ever young lifetime.

His heart gripped at the thought of avoiding her eyes till he was completely healed, but he told himself that it needed to be done. The whole ordeal would soon be over with.

He had to do this if he wanted to fly again. He was a big letter, and she was such a tiny little one.

* * *

Wendy Darling's eyes shot open when she heard footsteps pass by her door.

They were light footsteps; they were placed delicately and the owner was clearly holding their breath with each step.

Wendy quietly but swiftly slipped out of her bed, the covers rustling, and stepped to the door; praying that her foot would not land on anything except the carpeted floor. There was no shadow, but she could see the bare feet creep down the hall way before disappearing.

What could Peter Pan want at what could have been midnight?

Frowning, the girl opened her door, wincing at the creaking, and slipped out of the smallest crack she could manage. Why was he ignoring her? Well, she knew. It was because of the comforting and the nightmare. But, must he take it to such extremes? Of course he needed to; he was Peter Pan.

Wendy had entered the hallway just in time to see the last of the boy turn at the corner and head down the stairs. She followed him, thankful that her parents kept some candles lit. Sliding her hand down the banister, she ventured down the stairs; mindful of that one cursed stair that always creaked no matter how lightly you stepped.

She saw Peter pause and then slowly turn around. _It is so odd to see him without leaves_, Wendy thought, _and to see his hair so clean_. Shaking her head, she realized that he had asked her a question.

"Pardon?" she said and stepped closer.

He took a step back. "What – what do you want?" he growled. For some strange reason that was unknown to Wendy, his expression was much like the one of a caged animal. Well, it had to be the gloom, Wendy reasoned. Gloom always made things…exaggerated. More (or worse) than they appeared.

Wendy hesitantly stepped forwards again. "Peter-" she cut herself off as his eyes avoided hers. Something was obviously wrong.

"What is it?" he said in a low voice. His flannel top's first few buttons were unbuttoned; Wendy could not help but notice. Oh, why was she noticing these things? They were not proper! She was too young to even consider Peter as someone – someone more than just a friend.

But, she did anyway.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Wendy's inner self told her to run; to walk back up the stairs at a steady pace to not show how shaken she was by her own thoughts and Peter's cold-shouldered attitude.

"Wendy-" his sentence was abruptly stopped before he breathed deeply. He turned his head away. "What do you want?"

"Why have you been avoiding me?" Wendy's words were out of her mouth before she knew what was happening; before she could prepare a proper answer.

"It's," his head was turned away, but Wendy could see a grimace upon his face, "for the best." Oh, what a mature and non-Peter Pan sentence he had just spoken.

Wendy was able to maintain a moderately confused expression while on the inside, her inner self was tearing everything apart. What did he mean? What was Peter Pan speaking about? What was for the best? Ruining their friendship? Or was he turning her down? He couldn't be.

Wendy swallowed and stiffly nodded. "If you wish it." She then turned and traveled up the stairs once again. The cool banister was shockingly cold to her confusedly hot palm, and she was feeling the slightest bit dizzy.

But, one sentence managed to worm its way to her unusually slow senses. It was a muttered one, one that was to be muttered in scorn at either one's self or to another: "That was my line."

**Uh-oh. Peter, what have you done? xD Please do review! -MythScavenger**


	8. Collapse

**Hey, guys. Sorry for the long wait!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan. I thought that we've gone through this already.**

**Chapter Eight: Collapse**

The next morning, the cycle seemed to continue. Peter was trying his very best to avert his eyes from the only Darling daughter, and Wendy was trying her very best to understand this strange…creature.

The strange creature who was not a man, no, not at all. He was simply a boy – no, scratch that. He was not "simple" nor was he ever "simple." If anything, he was a complex labyrinth of a person whose secrets Wendy Darling wanted to know and keep; to hold to her breast in fear that it would escape her knowledge.

One secret, one question was what Wendy Darling dared to confront the once-Lost Boys about after breakfast. Peter had quickly fled up to his room, his footsteps light.

"Boys," she said in her best mother-tone, "I need to ask you something."

Choruses of "What, Wendy?" and "Of course, Wendy!" met the girl's ears. She fought to keep a smile off of her face; this was business. Peter Pan business. Wendy-lady business.

"You do remember when Peter was having that nightmare-" she broke off. Their expressions…The eagerness that was once there quickly faded from the round boyish faces. They had stiffened and their skin had paled.

"Wendy-lady…," Slightly whispered, "we don't speak of it." The other boys nodded in confirmation.

"Peter isn't in earshot, now, is he?" Wendy asked and allowed a friendly grin to appear.

The boys looked up to the ceiling, their faces worried. "You never know," one of the Twins began, "'cause, one time, we were talking out near-"

"-the lagoon," the other Twin said. "And when we got back to the hideout-"

"-he knew of what we were talking about-"

"-and we were punished quite severely, Wendy-lady!"

This was followed by whispers that were spoken softer than the story told by the Twins. It was a hushed, solemn little group that made Wendy speculate. _How close they are_, she thought. _They are woven tighter than a spider's web_. Even on Earth, they were loyal to their boy of a leader.

It was something the girl had to admire them for.

"Boys, please do tell me…Has he had those episodes before?"

"Lips zipped, Wendy-lady! Lips zipped!" At that, they scattered. Twins up the stairs; Slightly down the hall. Tootles to the kitchen; Nibs out the door.

Wendy Darling huffed and crossed her arms.

This was going to be harder than she had previously thought.

* * *

Peter Pan could not help but grin as he heard the Lost Boys scatter. That would show that-that _girl._ A girl who was not worth more than twenty boys. Nope. Not at all.

He remembered that story. The one of the Lost Boys and the lagoon and the topic they have spoken of. Peter had followed them, and made it back to Hangman's Tree before their footsteps were heard. He never told them how he knew; how it was that simple; he decided to let them think of him as an omniscient specter.

And he was perfectly happy with that.

But, why was that girl so determined on figuring him out?

He had to admit that he was pretty interesting; not to sound cocky. However, was she so…infatuated with him that she had to interpret his nightmares? That was an invasion of Peter Pan's privacy! And Peter Pan's privacy was to never be invaded; that was one of the first rules that new Lost Boys learned.

The first was that he was ruler; they had to obey him or meet such a terrible end even he dared to not speak of it. What terrible end he had yet to figure out; what the new Lost Boys didn't know wouldn't kill them.

The second was that his privacy must never be invaded or pried into or anything of that out-of-line-curiosity sort.

The third was that no adults were allowed. None. If they were even a _second_ or a _day_ into adulthood, they were to not be welcomed into Neverland.

"Peter?" Wendy called and he heard her footsteps going up the stairs. Here, he muttered a word that he had learned from Captain Hook and scrambled up from his ear-pressed-against-the-floor position. With a small bang of a noise, he hit his elbow on the edge of a dresser that he had totally and absolutely forgotten about.

The taboo word escaped his lips once again, just as Wendy opened his door.

"Peter!" Wendy said, aghast. "I thought that you knew better than that."

The blonde froze, desperately wishing that if he stayed frozen enough, he would instantly turn invisible. He even dared to slow his breathing and attempt to slow his heart that was beating as fast as a hummingbird's wings.

"Peter," Wendy said and he could see her out of the corner of his eye, "I'm going to have to wash your mouth out with soap."

He resisted the urge to swallow. Soap? He already detested soap.

"And it is such a horrible experience. The suds that mix with the fluids in your mouth…" She was getting closer. "The taste of clean and minerals that should not be inside of your body in the first place…" She was almost in front of him, and he was wondering if he should stop blinking. "Oh, and the need to gag, but you can't…"

He stumbled away from her, finally losing his balance. "Oh, please, no!" he said and was pressed up against the wall; the dresser that had ever-so-hardly hit his elbow next to him. "I won't say it again, I swear!"

Wendy grinned triumphantly, and the second her lips began to spread, he was cursing himself. Oh, he had broken his vow of silence. How horrible; how weak; how unforgivable; how ashamed of himself he was.

"Peter-"

"Don't call me that!" he pressed himself even more against the wall till it felt as if it was a part of him.

Wendy looked at him, her blue eyes confused. Her grin was faltering; slowly slipping into a small and bewildered 'o.' "What…"

"Don't you get it?" he said and was resisting the urge to stomp his foot and tug at his hair. To tug at Wendy's hair; to knock some sense into her. "You can't talk to me!"

"Why-"

"Stop that!" he said and covered his ears (or at least one of them), his eyes squinting shut. He furiously shook his head, a roaring in his ears. What was happening to him, he didn't know. Something was wrong with him; he wasn't suited to this air; to this weird crowded place that smelled horrible. It was getting inside of him; his inner-self wasn't prepared for this.

It was disrupting him; disrupting what inner-peace he had left.

"Mother!" Wendy's shriek was faintly heard through the shattering inside his confused, struggling mind. "Mother!"

**Uh-oh. This can't be good. :p Seriously, guys, thank you so much for the favorites/story-alerts/reviews! It makes my day that this story is so loved. :) -MythScavenger**


	9. Lapsing

**Thanks so much for putting up with my irregular/random-timing updating. C: Here's the latest chapter – please R&R!**

**Chapter Nine: Lapsing**

Wendy sat in the uncomfortable chair, holding her head in her hands. Her mouth was moving, but no coherent words were being heard; just strange murmurs. She could've been ridiculing herself or cursing Peter Pan and his existence or praying that he was alright or anything; even she herself did not truly know.

She licked her dry lower lip. There was something salty. Was it blood? She had been biting her lip earlier; she didn't think that her teeth punctured the skin that much. It could have been sweat dripping from her upper lip. It was hot.

She looked up, blinking in the light. The blurriness slowly settled, slowly transformed into adult figures. They were talking, the words just now making sense in Wendy's ears.

"How long has he been staying at your house?"

"For a couple of days."

"Has this happened before?"

"He did have this terrible nightmare, but we never mentioned it to him."

"Why not?"

"We felt that he would talk about it when he was ready."

Wendy Moira Angela Darling lowered her head again. Waiting. That was all she had been doing: waiting.

"Wendy?"

She stiffened. "Yes?" she cleared her throat. "Yes?" she repeated.

"Peter-"

"He isn't dead, is he?" her head shot up, her eyes wide. So question-filled and urgently wide, that the speaker – who was her mother – stepped back.

"No, dear. Of course not."

Wendy let out a relieved sigh. The guilt was lesser. "Then, what was it? What happened to him, I mean."

Mrs. Darling took a delicate step to Wendy. "Dr. Lawrence is trying to figure it out. We think that it might have been an attack of some sort."

If only she had not bothered him; if only she gave him his space. "So…So, what now?" she asked, just then realizing that her hands were gripping the sides of the chair.

Mrs. Darling smiled. "He's awake."

"Really?" Wendy leaped up. "Then, I must see him!" She tried to step around her mother, but the older woman gripped the girl's shoulders.

"Hold on, Wendy."

The girl looked up. Her feet were itching to run on the tiled floor; itching to run to Peter's room. How could her mother stop her at such an important time like this?

"Darling-"

"Sorry, mother," Wendy said and darted around her mother. "I need to see Peter!"

"Wendy-"

The girl quickly turned the corner and went up the stairs, pardoning and apologizing as she passed the just-now-waking Lost Boys. "Wendy? What is it, Wendy?" they asked. "Mother?" they called down. "What's wrong with Wendy?"

She finally came to the door that somehow became Peter's room even though he was supposed to be on the couch. She took a deep breath, trying to get under control. She wrung her hands and glanced down the hallway: no mother Darling.

Her hand hesitantly turned the doorknob and she winced at the creaking. Since when did this door creak? "Peter?" she called as she lightly entered. The room was reasonably lit; not too dark or too bright.

There was a murmur. The girl turned and saw the blonde under the covers, a white basin on the bedside table. A rag was on his forehead, and he was staring up at the ceiling. Was he? She stepped closer and saw that his eyes were slits. Were they open or were they closed? Was he asleep?

"Peter?" she dared to step closer. Her heart was picking up speed. Why should she be nervous? Why should she be scared? The doctor – the doctor said that he was alright. Her mother said so.

Wendy counted to ten. Her heart then slowed considerably, but she still felt unreasonably nervous. If he was in a small comatose right then, well, he was probably in no state to have an actual, proper, Peter-Pan-spirited conversation.

She took a deep breath and unsteadily walked to his bedside. Looking down, she realized how….small he appeared under the peach-colored covers. How lost. His eyes weren't in slits. They were closed, the curved eyelashes barely reaching his cheeks. A slightly-shaking hand felt the rag; it was lukewarm. His face seemed red; redder than it should've been. She laid a palm against his cheek: it was warm; warmer than it should've been. Feeling a bit more solid, she took the rag and refreshed it in the basin. She draped it over his heated forehead.

"Wendy-"

The brunette jumped and turned around with the manner of one being caught. "Mother – I'm sorry – I was so worried about – oh. What is it, Slightly?"

Slightly looked at her with a confused expression and then smiled. "Oh, Tinkerbell is here. Is Peter okay? She wants to see him."

Wendy nodded. "Of - of course."

Slightly tilted his head, looking around her to Peter. "Is everything really alright, Wendy?"

She could feel the tears coming. "Everything's really alright," she turned back to Peter. "But, yes. Tell Tinkerbell that she can come in here."

* * *

Peter was not exactly all that sure of where he was or how he had even gotten there. He kept lapsing in and out of consciousness; he had felt a cold pressure on his forehead and then when he was actually awake for more than some seconds, everything was hazily hazy.

There was a golden ball with delicate wings talking to him in the tinkling language of bells. She was gesturing with minute hands, her round eyes narrowed. And then, there was...a girl. She was a pretty girl; but, her blue eyes – from what he could see when she fed him spoonfuls of hot soup – were worried. Always worried. Why were they worried? They – she – were too pretty to be worried.

When he was not awake, when he was not being questioned by grown-ups and young boys that he could not even reply to, he was drifting: drifting among healthy green forests with purple and blue and yellow flowers immediately blooming when he passed by and bushes with crisp red berries bowing to him.

The forests, the skies, the sun, the moon, the mountains, the lagoons: they were all telling him to come home. Wishing for him to come home. Almost bitterly commanding him to come home.

"I'm trying!" he would reply, collapsing to the grassy floor. He would turn his face up to the green canopies that were shielding a perfectly blue sky and yell, "I'm trying! Don't die! I'm trying!"

Was he trying? They would ask.

"I am! I swear!" was his desperate reply.

Then, the world would fall silent.

_Was _he trying? Now, he was not all that sure.

She almost killed you, the trees and flowers and bushes would finally say in a hushed whisper.

Wendy didn't kill him. Or try to. She would never.

But, when he finally and completely awoke to Wendy anxiously sitting on a chair next to his bed, he knew that it was time for him to tell her.

To completely and honestly tell her.

**Oh, look at that...There's a cliffhanger. :p I'm sorry if the chapter was disappointing, but this seemed like a good place to stop. -MythScavenger**


	10. The Truth

**Dun-dun-dun! New chapter! I feel that it's sort of choppy, but I'm my own worst critic, right? xD Hope that you like!**

**Chapter Ten: Truth**

"Wendy..?" Wendy Moira Angela Darling heard the boy croak. She had been staring at him and replacing the rag. The fever had gone down and her parents and even her brothers had told her that she could move from her post, but she did not.

"Peter!" she said and was about to hug him but then thought better of it. Everything seemed brighter now that he was awake: those green orbs of his staring at her so lovingly and his hand reaching toward her cheek…

"Wendy," he repeated and she was immediately snapped out of her daydream. His eyes, they were not loving but haunted, and his hands were at his side. Somehow, there were deep shadows under his eyes. He looked…disturbed.

"Oh, I must get Mother!" she said and was about to get up before Peter's hand, as swift as a fish, grabbed hers. The grip was weak, but was she about to tell him that?

"No, Wendy," he said, surprisingly stern, "I need to tell you something."

She paused. "…Yes?" she said and slowly sat back down in the chair. As if sensing the importance of what was going to happen, a cold draft entered the room and seemed to pause next to her, sitting down and curling its toes under itself, enthralled in the tale that had yet to officially begin.

Peter coughed and it took all of her willpower to not hop up and run to an adult. To anyone.

"You remember…You remember when I was having that dream?" he said, staring up at her.

She chided herself for focusing on his eyelashes and the way they curved before nodding. "Yes, I do." She knew which dream he meant; the one where he was fighting invisible bonds. How helpless he had looked then.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "I could not fly. And…and you were taunting me. _You_ were able to fly. _You _had…had a group of Lost kids. Girls."

Wendy bit her lower lip and looked down at her hands in her lap. The nails were uneven from her nibbling them with worry; through those long intervals when he was somewhere in his head and not with them. Her. She looked up again when he cleared his throat.

His eyes were open and were focusing on her collarbone. A hand – his hand – lifted up and she leaned closer so he was able to finger the silver chain and then the little object that was on it. "You were still wearing my Kiss."

Just when Wendy began to enjoy the feeling of his hand against her skin, the hand returned to his side. She leaned back in her chair, goose-bumps prickling her skin. He appeared so terrorized.

"And…I was trying to kill you. You had one boy with you. He thimbled you. I was trying to kill you, Wendy," he took in a shuddering breath. "I tried to kill you."

She shook her head, trying to ignore the sudden pang of betrayal near her heart. "It was just a dream, Peter. Just make-believe." She thought, that for the slightest second, she could see tears forming. "You don't have to tell me any of this if it hurts you."

"I have to, Wendy-lady."

It had been so long since he called her that. It was depressing how it made her heart skip a beat. "If you're sure."

His eyes looked at the ceiling, concentrating intensely. She looked up, too, but nothing was there besides the usual. He then said, "And, Wendy…This is probably going to kill me saying this, but I…like you. A lot. More than I should." The last part was in such a rush that Wendy actually had to decipher it.

When the words finally made sense in her head, standing in a straight and orderly line, she smiled. Her heart beat faster. She only wished that he would look at her. "But, you said-"

"I know what I said. I didn't like saying it, Wendy-lady. I really didn't." Peter Pan was finally looking at her. He actually liked her.

"Why did you, then?" she asked, her eyes eagerly searching his face for _something_ that would make everything right and sensible. She knew that she was asking for a lot; he already admitted that he liked her in _that_ way.

He took a deep breath. "I can't fly. Tinkerbell…She told me that by liking you in the forbidden way, I couldn't fly. I had lost a vital happy thought. I was trying to…Trying to fly again," he paused. "The attack I had…Where I fainted…I can't live here. It's deadly for me."

There was silence; his words hung in the air before finally falling to the floor with a thunk. They were heavy; that heavy. Wendy bit her lower lip again and felt the faint scab; so that sour taste _was_ blood when her mother told her that Peter was okay. She cursed herself when her front teeth punctured the skin again; small drops of blood escaping.

"You're bleeding, Wendy."

She nodded and raised one of her hands to her lips, wiping the blood away. Looking at her hand, she saw a red smear.

"Wendy-lady, may I try something?"

She looked at him. "Pardon?"

"I want to try something."

She cocked her head to the side as he slowly sat up, wincing. He shook his head – he must be dizzy, she thought – and then met her eyes. She then watched as his pupils fell to her lips.

His feet hit at the floor as he completely sat on the side of the bed. She felt her heart beat; beat at the pace of a hummingbird's small wings as he leaned forward. Meeting him halfway, she immediately knew that this was what she wanted.

Not for him to look at her when confessing.

Not for him to tell her every single little thing.

Just a kiss. A thimble.

She knew that her lip was bleeding, but she didn't really care nor was she completely embarrassed. He apparently didn't care.

Wendy's eyes opened when he withdrew with his lips still puckered the smallest amount and his eyes closed. "Wendy?" he said slowly, his eyes then opening.

She took a deep breath. "Yes?"

"You know that I can't stay for forever."

"I know."

"Good," he said as he kissed – no, thimbled – her again, "'cause I like this."

**FLUFF. :D I feel as if the last part was OOC, but I owe you guys some Pendy fluff, right? Please review and thanks for reading! -MythScavenger**


	11. Of Shadows and Other Things

**Hey, readers! Happy Thanksgiving (if you celebrate it)! Here's the latest (short?) chapter. Guys, I just now realized that we're SO close to 100 reviews. Do you think we can reach that? :D**

**For ultimate (optional) reading pleasure, please listen to "Stay" by the Hurts. C:**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan.**

**Chapter Eleven: Of Shadows and Other Things**

"Wendy?" Peter Pan was holding out his arm to the sunlight.

It was a couple days after his "confessions" of sorts. They were both outside, simply sitting and nothing more. There were these moments where silence just seemed to be perfectly suitable and more preferred than actual conversations that sometimes got out of control with Peter spinning a tale and Wendy listening with curious ears.

"Peter?" Wendy said and looked at him. He was peering at his arm and then at the stone ground of the patio.

She thought that the patio might have been a bad place for him – it pretty much completely weakened the usually-powerful Peter Pan – but, he seemed to consider it as a worthy opponent and as his equal; it was not the oddest thing he had ever done, so she left it alone.

"Where's my shadow?"

"Oh!" Wendy exclaimed. "I've completely forgotten about it. It's in the dresser-"

"Come along, then!" Peter stated and flew up from the ground, offering her his free hand.

Along with his arm slowly healing and his breathing getting under control (Wendy sometimes wondered if he was make-believing that his attacks were no longer happening, thus making it true since he was Peter Pan and just seemed to be able to have these abilities that no regular mortal human being possessed; no, he so did not talk about himself a lot; what are you talking about?), Peter Pan had found his vital happy thought: Wendy Moira Angela Darling.

He could not fly very high or very far, but the power to do so was slowly returning to his control.

"No," Wendy said with a smile, "Peter, you know that flying-"

Peter pouted. "Meet you in the nursery, then!" he saluted and flew up and up to the nursery window, leaving Wendy down on the ground to hurry up the "boring and useless stairs," as proclaimed by the ever-right-and-brave Peter Pan.

"I should've ironed it," Wendy murmured to herself as she collected the shadow from the dresser. It was unusually tame for that particular shadow – not that she had had _so_ many numerous experiences with it – and she was not complaining.

"Ironing?" Peter said from behind her. She jumped in surprise and turned around. "Where did ironing _my_ shadow come from?" The shadow flicked him on the nose. "Hey!"

Wendy laughed. "I…really do not know. But, it makes sense in a way, doesn't it?" she sidestepped him and walked into her room, after picking up some spare thread and a needle from the dresser top in her other hand.

"I guess so, Wendy-lady," he paused. "Is this going to hurt again?"

"It's not _that_ bad," she said, motioning him to the floor.

Peter grumbled to this, but complied enough to sit down and let her fix his shadow with a lot more stitches that she said should secure it better.

"At least with less stitches I'll have a reason to come back," he said quietly before she began.

Wendy stiffened, but did not reply.

* * *

The two's time together seemed to follow that pattern. They tried to tip-toe around the idea of Peter Pan leaving the Darling residency; through the regular doctor check-ups and Tinkerbell's occasional visits it was more or less not mentioned.

But, they could not completely leave the topic alone. A former Lost Boy might prompt it, or Mr. and Mrs. Darling could be heard talking behind closed doors about Peter's healing arm and whether or not he was going to stay and the expenses if he did, or even delicate Wendy might mull over it at night when she just could not sleep: the idea of Peter Pan returning to his Never-Neverland was, well, never gone.

It was staying in the background, hiding and waiting for the right moment to reveal itself. It crowded an empty room and haunted each Peter Pan story that was told before bedtime. It was the storm after the calm hanging over everyone's heads. Even Nana's: she didn't like this boy who was spending way too much time with Miss Wendy. Could he just leave already?

So, when the topic was finally broached – more like snuck around everybody and was about to leap for it - after the party of Peter Pan's healed arm, Wendy felt that she had been holding down something for so long and that it finally popped up again with the sound that mud makes when it releases something. _Squish._

"Peter," Wendy said, "please don't go."

He looked at her with such a sorrowful look that it wrenched her heart. "I'm sorry, Wendy-lady. I told you, remember?"

They were standing in the nursery. Wendy Darling had wanted to give Peter Pan a celebratory thimble out of sight of the brothers and Lost Boys who had found their romance quite gross (it was such an embarrassing way how they had found out; however, that is another story whose time is not yet to be told), but could not find him. She finally came across him in the nursery, just about to leap and take off from the window's edge.

"Without saying good-bye?" she bit her lip and wrung her hands.

Peter sighed, and picked off a leaf from his outfit that was about to fall off, anyway._ Mother and Father had kept it?_ Wendy thought in faint surprise. "There's nothing good about a bye, Wendy. Why is it there in the first place?"

"You're wishing someone farewell," Wendy said and stepped closer, "and the best."

Peter Pan turned his head away from her gaze. "It's easier, isn't it? Flying away instead of telling someone good-bye. 'Good-bye' means bye for forever, Wendy."

"It also hurts more for the other person."

There was silence. Peter Pan scratched the back of his neck and Wendy was looking down, down at the carpeted floor with toys strewn about. She fingered with the Kiss around her neck.

"I have to go," Peter said, and flew toward her. His arms wrapped around her for the slightest second before he backed away and bowed. Wendy curtsied, watching him back away even more with eyes that were just begging him not to leave, not to abandon her again.

"'Bye, Wendy-lady," he said and then twisted around and leaped. "I _am_ sorry." He waved his healed arm in farewell, smiled, and flew away with the grace he had not lost even during the time of no flying.

It was silent.

A gentle breeze rustled the curtains and Wendy Moira Angel Darling took in a shuddering breath, telling herself she wasn't going to cry. She slowly walked to the window's edge and picked up the skeletal leaf Peter Pan had subconsciously dropped.

"Then why don't you stay?"

**THIS IS NOT THE END. I assure you. :) We have one more chapter to go, ladies and gentlemen. Thanks for reading and please review! -MythScavenger**


	12. Goodbye Doesn't Always Mean Forever

**Hi! Oh, wow. It's the last chapter. NO REMINISCING TILL THE BOTTOM.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan.**

**Chapter Twelve: Good-bye Doesn't Always Mean Forever**

Numb.

That's what described Wendy Moira Angela Darling's heart for days afterward.

Complete numbness.

She tried to have a one-on-one therapy session with herself once. "We both knew about this. He warned me. Why am I so surprised?"

Maybe she thought that she was going to have more time; more time to convince him that the air wouldn't hurt him even though she didn't believe it herself. Maybe she was holding on to a thin rope, a slender hope, that he would change his mind.

For her.

Maybe, just maybe, she saw this coming all along and was just ignoring it. "Ignorance is bliss," they said. Well, her bliss was now broken and maybe her ignorance was never completely ignorant.

If anything, she was more aware of the hurt in the world, now. She spat and she grumbled and she was just acting like Peter Pan when he did not get his way. Usually and eventually, Peter Pan did something about it when he had no more secret tears to cry and no more fire to yell.

This, she could do nothing about.

Her friends and brothers (both kinds) and even her parents tried to help. She thanked them for their concern, but, no, she was okay. She smiled. He was just a boy.

But, later on that night when she just could not surrender to sleep, she felt traitorous toward that boy who was supposed to be "just a boy." He was never "just a boy." She then raised a finger to the right corner of her mouth, trying to pinpoint the exact area of where that hidden kiss used to be.

"I don't know what has happened to Wendy," Mr. Darling said one night when they thought everyone was asleep.

"She's heartbroken," Mrs. Darling said calmly. "Give her some time."

Wendy paused; the water in her glass was slightly shaking as she slowly turned her head to her parents' bedroom door.

"She's no longer in the nursery. She can't just throw fits…." Wendy started jogging down the hall toward her room. Her heart was beating fast and she thought that she felt tears pricking her eyes.

When she reached her door, she turned the doorknob, entered, and then closed the door. She locked it. _Click__._ The brown-haired girl took a breath and sunk down to the carpeted floor. She placed the glass down, not caring if it spilled, and then hugged her knees close.

"Father is just a practical man," she tried to reason to herself. "Even I know that I have no reason to act like this."

Those words didn't help.

She wasn't sure if she felt very numb. Her heart was, maybe. Her eyes could still cry. She could still feel. She raised the glass to her dry lips.

She knew that she had a part of Peter in her; a part that he could never take back. He might come back for it, maybe. But, she could not return it. It numbed her and kept her safe.

Safe, she repeated in her mind as she closed her eyes, placing the glass down. Safe.

* * *

Wendy jerked awake, not exactly sure what she had heard or when it was made. Her eyes immediately went to the window.

It was closed.

The girl then sighed and dragged herself to her bed, leaving the spilt glass on the floor. She didn't notice that a candle was lit.

* * *

On returning, Peter Pan discovered a group of boys who were stupid enough to fall out of their prams and not get claimed in seven days. They said that the journey to the Neverland they could not remember, nor their parents. Could they stay?

Neverland was on its last legs when Peter Pan returned from his stay on Earth. After a couple of days of his presence cock-a-doodling in its atmosphere, however, it soon began to grow. Slowly, but ever progressing to become the brilliance that it once was.

The house – Wendy-lady's house – was in various states of decomposition. Peter Pan did not bother to fix it. Maybe, just maybe, it would help ease the memories of the girl and her thimbles the more dead it became.

Tinkerbell was oh-so-happy that Peter Pan was back. Something was off, she knew, but she did not pester. It had to go away. Peter Pan had to forget. And if she did not talk about it nor the new Lost Boys nor Peter Pan himself, it might just fade into a distant memory and then into nothing more.

* * *

_The window._

Wendy Moira Angela Darling woke up from a dreadful nightmare that she just could not remember. It was taunting and hopping to-and-fro in her mind, never letting her get close. It had to do with a window; that was all she knew.

What had woken her up?

"Wendy-lady."

She looked at the window again. No, it was closed. She looked at her door. Nothing. Her bookshelves were even. She then looked directly up at her ceiling.

"Oh!" she said.

Peter Pan sheepishly smiled and floated down to stand at the foot of her bed, casting a long shadow over her.

"Hi, Wendy," Peter Pan said and bowed.

"You came back," she then said sternly after truly realizing that he was here, there. "You dared to come back."

He sadly frowned. "I'm sorry, Wendy. Please-"

"You put me through so much and you dared to come back?" she scrambled off of her bed and ran toward her window. Peter Pan spun around, hopelessly watching.

Wendy tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge. She then glanced at him. "How'd you get in because you need to get out."

"Wendy, please listen. Please, oh, please listen!" Peter Pan said, walking toward her. He gripped her fisted hands in his own. "Please."

She met his eyes. They _did_ look truly sorry. She sighed. "I'm sorry, Peter. I didn't think that you were going to come back."

"I didn't say good-bye, Wendy-lady. I just said 'bye.'"

She hung her head. "Oh." After running over his farewell so many times in her head, she couldn't find a loophole of him coming back. A chance of him coming back.

He tipped her head upwards with a now-grimy finger. "It's not the same there, Wendy. Oh, I have a new group of Lost Boys and everything," he said off-handedly, "but, it's not the same. Neverland needs a girl."

"Then just find a Lost Girl," she said quietly.

"Don't you remember, Wendy? Girls are much too smart to fall out of their prams."

"And 'they're worth more than twenty boys,'" Wendy quoted, smiling the tiniest of smiles.

He nodded and then took a deep breath. "Please come, Wendy-lady."

"Tinkerbell?"

"She'll just have to get used to you."

Wendy bit her lip. "But, what about Mother? Father? The boys…"

"They'll be fine," Peter said. "I need you more than them. The Lost Boys and me and Neverland need a mother."

Wendy wanted to lower her head, to avoid his earnest green eyes. Just when she was about to, Peter Pan managed to duck in and give her a thimble. "Please."

"I can't give it back to you," she said softly against his lips, internally clutching that part of him in her heart; in the smallest part of her Wendy-lady being.

"I know."

One word.

One word was all it took to say yes or to no; to disturb the still night air and its peace. To heal Neverland or completely break it.

Just one word.

* * *

"Did Wendy mind very much?"

"No."

The girl looked up at her parent, slightly cocking her head. "She gave up everything."

Former Slightly, who was now called Mr. Thomas Darling, did a grim laugh. "Yes, yes she did. But, she was happy," he paused and then added. "She _is_ happy."

The little girl mulled over this for a second. "Does she remember us very much?"

The man kissed her forehead. "Sometimes."

_The End._

**Ta-da! Oh, people, I can't believe that this story is over. :O **

**Every single person who has reviewed or favorited or story-alerted or who will/might do so, thank you. Sorry that it took a little bit over a year for this story to end, but, hey. At least we enjoyed it longer, right? I hope that you loved this story as much I did writing it. :)**

**Thanks again,**

**-MythScavenger**


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